Desperate Times
by PcKtmouse
Summary: Chapter three: The end of the game brings a new beginning. Francis/Louis, implied Zoey/Bill. Rated for strong language.
1. Chapter 1

The safe house was actually spacious, Francis observed as he leaned against a water heater. Most of them were so small you could spit and hit everyone in the room. There had obviously been a small pack of survivors living here before them; a couple of padded sleeping bags lay rolled against the corner and the floor was littered with food wrappers and ammunition shells. He wished that he had a cigarette, but Bill was vehemently opposed to sharing his favorite brand of smokes.

"_My sister-in-law griped to me for years about smoking_", Bill had once told him as he lit up, "_Said that they would be the death of me_._ I say fuck it – lung cancer is the least of my worries now._"

And now that he thought about it, Francis had never seen their self-proclaimed leader without a cigarette between his lips. Even now as the old codger talked to Zoey he had a burning stick expertly pushed to one side.

Francis frowned as he watched the old veteran and the lazy college would-be-dropout chat comfortably by the heavy steel door, as though there wasn't a zombie apocalypse waiting on the other side. He didn't like how buddy-buddy the two had become during the past few days. He hated secret alliances.

Francis groaned and dragged his hand down his rugged face. Like stroking the tread of a fresh tire. He glanced over to where Louis, the most productive member of their happy family, was taking inventory. To his surprise, the clean cut man was also smoking a small Marlboro stub.

"I didn't know you smoke, Dark Meat."

Louis turned, looking surprised then angry. "Did you just call me _dark meat_?"

"Don't get pissy. Can you give me a drag?"

"I'll give you a broken jaw if you call me that again."

Francis actually grinned. That was Louis; his friendly face and monkey suit made him look like the gentlest person on Earth – and usually was – but the man had a mean streak to match his own. He remembered at the Riverside church when Louis threatened to break down the safe room door and beat the coward inside to death if any of them were killed. Threats are empty of course, but Francis knew from the frenzied look in Louis' eyes that he would make good on his claim. Not many men could do that.

"Alright", Francis said, throwing his hands up in the universal 'I surrender' pose, "Alright, sorry. Call me White Meat and we'll be even."

"I don't make prejudicial, derogatory comments like that." Louis snapped with a hint of superiority.

"That's a lot of fancy words. Can I have a drag?"

Louis walked over, removed the cigarette from his lips as though he were actually going to pass it, then exhaled a plume of smoke right into the biker's face. Francis managed to hack out a curse as he choked and flipped the smaller man off as he walked away smiling. He coughed for a few seconds, clearing the smoke from his lungs, and noticed a pair of eyes watching him. Bill and Zoey stared, then quietly resumed their own conversation.

Frowning, Francis stood and made his way over to Louis. The dark eyes didn't glance up to meet him. "I'm not giving you a smoke. Go hit Bill up for one."

"I tried", Francis replied, "He's not putting out."

Louis raised one eyebrow, but still didn't look at him. "For a nice guy like you? I'm surprised."

"Whatever. Besides…" He leaned in close, noticing that Louis leaned away from him an inch. "I don't think he'd be interested in talking to me, seeing as how I'm not Zoey."

Louis finally glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"You don't notice how friendly they've become? It doesn't worry you?"

"They're getting to know each other." Louis shrugged. "It's called common courtesy."

"It's called covering your asses." The other man frowned, but remained quite. "You think if things go South they're gonna stay and fight it out with us? I bet they're up there right now planning a back up."

"You're paranoid", Louis scowled.

Now it was Francis' turn to shrug. "Maybe. But think about it. Bill is old as fuck. He can't keep up with the rest of us; he's gonna get worn out. And Zoey? Yeah, she's independent and feminist and all that shit, but she still needs someone to make her feel safe, someone to lean on. And who's that gonna be? You? The Dark Meat Junior Analyst Electronic store working whatever the hell you are? She's too well bred for that."

"Hey!"

"Or me", Francis continued, ignoring the flushed rage on Louis' face, "The ner-do-well outlaw. Bill is old, yeah, but he's experienced and when he gets tired from this zombie bullshit and Zoey starts whispering about holing up somewhere and having little grizzly war vet brats I bet he changes his tune pretty damn fast."

"You're demonizing Zoey", Louis growled, "And Bill is the most dedicated man I have ever seen. He lives to fight. He didn't abandon his troops in Vietnam, and he won't do it now."

"Fuck 'Nam! You think shootin' Charlies holds a candle to shootin' zombies?"

"You know what I think? I think you're jealous because the only woman in a 100 mile radius isn't interested in you."

Francis huffed. "Jealous? Boy, I've gotten more pussy then I care to. If I never get it with a woman again it'll be too soon."

Louis flushed, but not from anger. His eyes quickly returned to the shell casings on the table. "Oh! I didn't…I wouldn't of….So you're..?"

"A cocksucker?"

"I was going to say homosexual."

"Say it however you want." Francis spoke coolly, as though he were discussing the weather. "What about you?"

Louis was looking less black and more Indian by the minute. "No! No...ugh, I'm straight."

Francis rolled his eyes. Great, an ancient war vet, a whore for horror, and a _closeted_ business lackey.

"And I still think you're wrong." Louis whispered with less conviction in his voice.

"Maybe I am", Francis relented, "Maybe I'm a coldhearted bastard and Zoey's a virgin and the government just developed a cure for this fucking disease." He leaned close again. Louis didn't move away. "My point is, if or when shit hits the fan we gotta stick together. Cause I'll cut off my dick and call myself Lindsay Lohan before I let anyone fuck with my chances of surviving. How about you?"

"Sans the castration…Yeah. So what do we do?"

"Nothing." Louis looked confused. "We don't act, we don't speak, we don't even think about this. Like you said I could be wrong."

"You are wrong."

"But if I'm right, we don't fall apart. We don't sit in a corner and bawl like some fucking Witch. We say 'Fuck you', gather our gear and look out for ourselves, together. Either we both survive, or we shoot each other in the head with our last two bullets. Deal?"

Francis extended his hand. Louis gazed at it as though he were holding a cobra. "Well…desperate times, right?"

Francis nodded. "Damn straight."

Louis regarded him carefully, and then slowly his gloved hand. Francis couldn't help but notice that his palms were smooth and callous free. _Spoiled fucker_.

A few minutes later, after they had both returned to their respective corners Bill announced that it was time to move out. Francis shouldered his shotgun, grabbing ammo and a scavenged pipe bomb. He reached back to double check that that his pain pills were still in his back pocket, and felt something small wedged next to the plastic bottle. Curious, he pulled it out.

In his palm lay a fresh Marlboro.

Francis glared up at Louis who had a grin that reached his eyes. Instead of barking out his default curse, or making a derogatory comment, he simply brought the cigarette up between his lips.

Desperate times, indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

Second one-shot, cause I'm bored like that. Features a slight FxL pairing. Nothing owned by me.

Flames are used for toasting marshmellows.

* * *

Louis stared at the bolted tri-barred door, hoping that it would hold during the onslaught that might come. He had taken refuge in the only room that could be locked from the outside about three hours ago, as soon as they had reached the safe room and discovered the painfully small hole in the wall. Louis was just glad he wasn't claustrophobic.

A sudden clattering of footsteps announced an approaching Francis; the sound was too heavy to be made by the petite Zoey and lacked the slight unevenness that Bill's limp caused. As he suspected, the haggard face of the biker peered down through the bars to where he sat. "How you holdin' up, Dark Meat?"

Louis let the racial pet name slide; it had become Francis' favorite and no amount of protesting changed it. His anger actually seemed to encourage the man. "I-I'm still feverish and I – ", he suddenly broke into a coughing fit, clutching his chest in pain. He waited several minutes after it died to continue. "I'm coughing now. I think…I know I'm getting worse."

"So you got the sniffles." The older man shrugged. "You didn't have to lock yourself up in this tiny ass closet."

"You-cough- you know why I did. We can't be sure…"

"You're not infected."

"Can't be sure that I'm not. You remember the man…"

"We've been crawling through shit, eating rotten food, never sleeping.."

"The man in the bell tower. He thought he was…"

"It's no wonder we all don't get some crazy ass disease."

"Immune! So what if I'm not?"

"That fucker was crazy." Francis snarled. "He got lazy, got bit, and got sent straight to Hell. You've been bitten more times than a sorority slut into odax and nothin's happened."

"I'm not taking a chance."

"_Goddammit you're not infected_!"

"_How the fuck would you know_?!"

Louis felt a nauseous wave of relief sweep through him when no response was offered. The young man sighed and cradled his fevered head in his hands.

"Trying to pussyfoot out of our deal." He heard Francis whisper.

Louis actually chuckled. "We'll, at least you can keep your end."

More silence. Louis couldn't even appreciate the rare moment of quiet; the howls of the infected rang in his ears. It might be the last sound he ever heard – other than the pumping of a shotgun that was.

"You really believe this bullshit, don't you?"

He sighed softly. "I don't know, Francis. But if I didn't take this chance…And if I hurt you…Or Bill and Zoey", he added quickly, "I would never forgive myself. Even if I – _what the hell are you doing_?" He cried as Francis began to unbolt the door. Louis sloppily jumped up, slightly disoriented from the fever, and tried to pull back on the bars. "You can't let me out!"

Francis ripped the door open effortlessly. Louis was no weakling, but on his best day he would still be vastly out-muscled by the biker. "I'm not lettin' you out, I'm comin' in." And true to his word, he stepped inside the cramped space.

Louis flattened himself against the back wall, but was still chest to chest with the larger man. Now he was _very_ happy he wasn't claustrophobic. "What are you doing?!" He repeated.

That impish grin spread over Francis' unshaved face. "I'm gonna prove you're not infected, dipshit." Louis growled, ready to tell him that he was an idiot and to get the fuck out when Francis gripped his arms painfully – and kissed him.

It was nothing like kissing a woman; women didn't taste like cheap tobacco, move their tongues with such dominance around a stranger's mouth and _certainly_ didn't have sandpaper beards that would surely leave cuts on his face. Francis didn't close his eyes like the cover of a cheap Harlequin romance; he stared straight into Louis' astonished gaze and the young man couldn't decide whether to kiss him back or slam his knee into the son of a bitch's groin.

As though sensing his intention Francis withdrew his tongue and leaned back, his expression holding more arrogance then normal.

"So Dark Meat, would I have swapped spit with you if I thought you were infected?"

"You fucking idiot", he snarled between gasps, "What if I am? Then we'll both turn into zombies!"

Arms still caught, Louis couldn't shrink back as the other man leaned in again, so close that he could feel his rough lips. "Remember our deal? Either we ride out this shit together, or we finish each other off."

His warm breath made Louis dizzy, if it weren't for the biker's strong grip his legs would have given out. "You're not sane."

"And you're not gonna die."

Louis' lungs collapsed and a single sob tore through him. He didn't realize he was crying until he tasted his own tears sliding past his mouth.

Francis, for his part, did nothing; didn't mock his fear of death, or attempt to comfort or subjugate him to another kiss. He simply stood, inches away, allowing Louis to momentarily lose himself in his friend's eyes.

Hours or minutes later, Louis felt himself pushed back. The tattooed man stepped out and fished in his pockets for a borrowed Marlboro, as calmly as though they had just finished a game of Go Fish instead of tonsil hockey. Louis, however, was shaking like a lamb in a wolves den, eyes glued to Francis as he lit up and exhaled a plume of smoke. Maybe he _was_ trapped in a cheesy romance; maybe this was the just the cliché climactic struggle between two star struck characters, maybe…

"So you gonna hole up in the closet like a fag, or what, Dark Meat?"

And maybe he should have just groined the motherfucker when he had the chance.


	3. Chapter 3

Francis/Louis

Implied Zoey/Bill

Cuss words abound. Don't like, don't read. Can't make it any clearer. Nothing (c) me

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed/faved this story. I do not reply to every review but I read them all and I appreciate the time you guys take to read my stories. Please enjoy this final chapter.

* * *

The tank rumbled beneath them, but even the heavy sound of metal upon metal couldn't drown out the enraged screams of the infected. For once, however, the four straglers were not running or making a bold stand against the horde, they were riding into freedom with their camo-clad saviors.

They had made it. They were safe.

Louis could hardly bring himself to think these words but as soon as he did a deep laughter erupted from his chest. "We made it! I can't believe we made it!" He cried, echoing his words on the hospital rooftop all those weeks ago. Zoey was grinning like a child, her sniper rifle momentarily discarded at her feet as she bounced lightly with the movements of the metal tank. Even Bill slapped his knee and congratulated them on a hell of a job. The only one who did not seem to notice their daring escape was Francis; the biker gripped his shotgun like a lifeline and his sunken eyes darted suspiciously around the cramped interior. "Francis, man, relax! We did it this time – this is for real," he breathed, wanting to reach over and grip the leather clad shoulder.

"One of those Tanks could still take us out." His friend snarled. "Pick us up and throw us like a brat with a fucking Hot Wheels."

"Dem fuckers are strong, but dey ain't dat strong." One of the solders argued and Louis was surprised to hear the thick Canadian accent slip from his lips. "We've had our run in wit' em, trust you dat." Francis dropped his gun long enough to throw his hands in the air. "Great! Now we've got eh-holes driving the war machines; un-fucking-beliva – "

"Has this thing spread up to Canada?" Zoey interrupted and Bill threw the man his customary 'shut up before I shoot you' glare. "Aye, bittie. I've been makin' my way down from Yellowknife with my family."

"Well the U.S. is sure in a shit hole if we're taking help from the hat."

"We can drop your happy ass off here, dick!" A second voice called from the front. Before Francis could fire back with his smart retort Louis grabbed him by the collar and drew him forward with one sharp yank. "Shut your mouth before you get us kicked off of here!" The older man looked ready to tear Louis' hand off at the wrist. He matched the snarl Francis threw into his face and continued in a harsh whisper. "You're being a selfish little – I apologize Zoey – a selfish_ bitch_ and I'm not – "

"_Me_? _Me_ a selfish bitch? It ain't been five minutes and you three already have your heels kicked up like this is a _goddamn picnic_! I'm trying to keep alert – " Louis tightened his grip and shook the biker as much as he dared. "You're trying to make everyone as nervous as you to make yourself feel better! We have been running for _days_, we are _starving_ and we look like zombies ourselves. I don't care if this doesn't last an hour but we are going to enjoy it while it does so cut your _shit_, take a breath, and _RELAX_!"

Francis stared back silently and Louis could see himself reflected in the man's dark eyes. He noticed for the first time how close they were and that he could feel the biker's warm breath on his face – then he cursed himself for noticing. "Fine." Francis finally snapped and leaned back into the thinly padded seat. "I guess we did do a damn good job."

"A hell yeah fucking damn good job!" Zoey reiterated and clasped onto Bill's arm. "But…What happens now?"

"Now," the stranger said. "We go home."

* * *

Home, it turned out, was nothing more than a reinforced campground and was much less glamorous than Francis had allowed himself to imagine. Instead of crowds of lively, gun wielding survivors he saw only desolate refugees: shallow-eyed, beaten down shadows who stared dismally at the small group as they were escorted by. And they had found out the hard way that there were no guns inside the camp. '_General public safety_' the guard at the front gate had said with a conceited grin as he held out his hands like a brat on Halloween. If it had not been for Louis' restraining arm Francis would have stormed back out into the woods.

The four trudged along between their military escorts before coming to a series of tall wire fences and it was here that they were told to separate. One half was for the women, the other for the men and judging by the soldiers with AK-47s any mischief was not tolerated. They said an awkward goodbye to the unpleased Zoey and parted to the left. "I guess this is really it, huh?" Louis whispered. "What did you expect?" Bill answered gruffly as he stared after their separated comrade, somehow still managing to smoke his stub of a cigarette. "This ain't a night at the Ritz."

"No shit." The tattooed man growled as they came upon a Depression style tent city. Tens of dozens of tents littered the broad field, some no more than bed sheets pitched up by brooms, and outside of each sat miserable clusters of survivors. And, he noted in realistic grief, hardly any children. The biker didn't understand why this disturbed him so much – he fucking hated children. "Five to a tent." Their guide suddenly snapped; Francis couldn't help smiling as his black friend started ever so slightly. "You can move around from sunup to sundown but after that you stick to your tent. Groups eat and bath in an assigned order – no exceptions. No one is allowed outside the fence. _Ever_. And don't even think about worming your way into the women's camp; the nice guards will shoot you in the ass but the mean ones…They tend to take a more Bob Barker approach."

"Welcome to Auschwitz." The camouflage cladded guard spun to glare at Louis but said nothing in response. Instead he jerked his thumb towards a group of tents and nodded his head at Bill. "You're group Eight. Group Six and group Five," he added to Francis and Louis. "The people in your group will explain the schedules – I've got rounds to make."

"Have fun with our guns, fucker!" Francis called to the soldier's back, but the man didn't even reward him with a backwards glance. The three of them stood there for several moments, waiting silently for the one who would be brave enough to break away first. Unsurprisingly, it was Bill. "You boys find me when you need to," he grumbled in a fatherly way and slapped them each on the shoulder. And then, to Francis' utter amazement, he took his cigarette stub from his mouth and flicked it casually to the ground before turning on his heel and leaving the last two members of their group alone.

He heard Louis draw in a small breath. "So….What do we do?"

"What do we do about what, Dark Meat?"

"Don't be a dick, Francis. What do we do about…About us?" He whispered the last word like a curse. The biker shook his head. "There's nothing to do." The young man looked surprised, then angry, then something that Francis couldn't recognize. "Are you serious? _You_ kiss _me_ and now you're pulling _this_ bullshit – "

"What do you want me to say?" Francis snarled. "It's not you, it's me, I just need some space, I really want to focus on my fucking career. Take your pick cause it's all the same to me!"

The man's hands clenched into claws and Francis wondered if Louis was imagining what it would feel like to strangle him. "We're finally safe where we can enjoy each other and you – " All of sudden the emotion washed from his face and the man held up his palms in surrender. "No…No, you're right. We were stressed, we were alone and now we're not. Goodbye."

"Fuck, Louis!" He caught his thin arm before he could walk away; Louis jerked in his grasp and Francis locked his grip even tighter. "I'm not dumping you on prom night! We just got thrown into some brand new shit, we're surrounded by strangers and our guns are collecting dust in a storage closet somewhere in this dump. Can we drop the old married couple bullshit and just figure this out?"

He wanted to see understanding in his friend's eyes; he wanted to see the lingering panic that Francis told himself he wasn't feeling reflected in Louis, but there was nothing in his warm gaze but disappointment. "Yeah, sure Francis. Let me know when you figure things out." This time he didn't fight as the black man snapped free and turned away, leaving the biker the way he was before the outbreak started.

Alone.

* * *

The next few weeks were a blur for Francis. After so much running and never sleeping and living off moldy scraps of food he didn't know what to do with himself now that there was no danger, nothing to kill or scavenge. Cans of food were rationed out twice a day and an hourly patrol, which Francis was not allowed to join, kept the perimeter infected free. The abundant free time gave the biker plenty of time to imagine all of the things that could go horribly wrong and the nightmares kept him awake at night in the tent. The fact that he would never see his shotgun again was an extra kick in the balls. However, as he was walking one day he found an abandoned steel rod about a foot in length; most likely dropped there and forgotten during the construction of the fence. Francis took it and hid his prize in the blanket that was issued him.

Some days he spoke with Bill and on rare occasions he yelled to Zoey through the guarded fence. But he could never seem to find the one man he actually wanted to see. Or didn't want to; he was never sure which. Except for those nights where he lay awake wondering when this fantasy would all come crashing down on them. On those nights he wished Louis was beside him, telling him that he was an idiot for not enjoying the peace while he could and chatting about things that Francis didn't give a damn about. He wished he hadn't of chased the man away. He wished his Louis was with him now.

But as it turned out Francis didn't have long to wish.

It was the middle of the night when the screams started. Francis, already awake, bolted up and wrapped his fingers around the metal pipe at his side. He knew those screams; they rang in his head every goddamn night and they would for the rest of his life. His panicked tent mates scattered like deer and the biker, weapon in hand, ran towards the mounting chaos. There was no way to tell who was infected and who was simply running for their lives. People swarmed over each other, shoving and screaming and trampling; it was only until they started biting that it was clear who needed to be avoided. A man missing part of his left jaw ran up to the biker, howling and spiting as he drew nearer. Francis waited until he saw the gleam in the mad man's eyes before he swung the pipe in a wide arch and found his mark right above his attacker's ear. The poor bastard fell to the ground and didn't move.

Francis ran and ran, then he fell into a jog until he caught his breath and started running again. There was only one thing on his mind besides survival and he was screaming it at the top of his lungs. "_Louis! Louis_!" A horrible chorus of screams filled the air and the man watched helplessly as a Boomer covered a mass of people with its horde attracting bile. "_For Christ's sake,_ _where are you_?" The minutes felt like hours as he ran, dodging desperate people and caving in the skulls of any infected who turned their sights on him. He was only able to help a single person; a felled woman with an infected towering over her. One strike from his pipe was all it took. The woman ran off without a word of thanks and Francis didn't have the heart to blame her.

Suddenly the musical sound of gunfire drifted over the screams to reach him. Finally! Someone had found the guns! The man swiftly changed direction and charged towards the rhythmic beat. It did not take long to find the source; a sizeable group huddled outside the fence, the front line mowing down the raging infected with their recovered weapons. As he ran up from the side Francis waved his arms over his head and screamed. "Not infected! Not infected! Don't fucking shoot, I'm not – !"

"_Francis_!" The biker couldn't believe his eyes. On top of a large overturned trailer, sporting her signature sniper rifle, was the bright eyed Zoey. "Oh my God, Bill, it's Francis!"

"Eyes front, Zoey! We've got survivors coming in!" The young woman turned back to her scope as the veteran stepped over her prone body to gaze down at him. Francis was embarrassed by the relief he saw in the old man's eyes. "Louis?" He shouted up. Bill shook his head. "_Dammit_!" He cursed and ran back out to the fray. "Francis, wait!" He didn't listen, knowing that the self-appointed leader would just try to stop him. "Francis, for fuck's sake, take this!" Surprised, he turned just in time to catch a shotgun, a box of shells falling to his feet. "You find him and you bring him back!" Bill shouted. "That's an order!" Francis gave him a salute that dissolved into his middle finger and threw the pipe away. _'Sorry buddy'_. With a quick swipe the ammo was in his pocket and the biker was running at full speed. He felt much more confident with the shotgun in his hands, but it didn't change the fact that his Louis was still lost out there. Francis ran until he came upon a small building, a old shower house for overnight campers, and paused to catch his breath. "I – I hate running." He gasped, doubled over with his hands on his knees. Without warning a low growl cut through the air and Francis glanced up just in time to see a filthy Hunter, belly low to the ground like a snake, turning the corner. "Not today, bitch." He growled and calmly lined his sight on the advancing infected –

The air was forced from his lungs, arms pinned, gun fallen, and Francis lurched back against the wall. His head rebounded off the bricks and his vision swam for a moment before returning as clear as beer goggles. He struggled and cursed but couldn't break free of the Smoker's tongue that held him six feet off the ground. "Son of a bitch!" The Hunter crept closer, slowly, as though teasing the biker with his hopelessness. He could have sworn that he saw a grin spread under the dark hood a moment before the monster leapt and Francis said a final prayer to any deity that would listen.

In a flash the ground rushed up to meet his knees and the Hunter screamed in pain as he slammed face-first into the wall where Francis dangled not three seconds earlier. The man rolled, grabbed his shotgun, and fired one round into the back of its head; a moment later the Smoker fell beside his infected comrade, a penny sized hole bored straight through his mutated forehead. "Francis!" He grinned at the familiar voice, shrugging the last of the disgusting tongue off of him. "Where you been hiding Dark Meat? I've been looking all over for you." He craned his neck and finally saw the vision he had been searching for; Louis stood above him, silhouetted by the starry sky and clutched a sniper rifle close in his trembling hands. "You were right…" The man whimpered as Francis righted himself on his feet. "Jesus, Francis, you were right! I was so stupid…We should have been more careful, we should have – " Francis didn't care about listening to what they should have done. He gripped the back of his shaved head and crushed their mouths together before the startled man could pull away. It lasted for only a moment before Louis dug the rifle into his gut and Francis cursed in pain. "What the _fuck_ was that for?"

"You," Louis panted. "Are the most hypocritical, insensitive, capricious bastard I have ever met!"

"Yeah, okay! I get it! You're right and I'm wrong, true love conquers all and glass slippers for everyone, now shut the fuck up and let's go!" The fighting stopped long enough for them to run, side by side, back the way Francis had come. "Have you seen the others?"

"They were back this way and we better pray to Mary's virgin ass that they didn't – oh fuck!" He stopped dead in his tracks as the overturned trailer came into sight with no survivors to meet them. "No! _NO_!"

"_Francis!_" Louis' startled scream tore his attention behind them; a fresh wave of infected had followed their trail and were making a final charge toward the pair. "Come on, Louis!" He cried and the men bolted into the forest. They ran for minutes on end, flying past the trees and firing off rounds over their shoulders when the crazed bastards got too close. This sort of exertion used to be their daily routine, but after weeks of serene laziness both men soon found themselves struggling for breath. "Keep going Louis, just keep going!"

"I – I don't think I c-can!"

"Don't you stop! Imagine them in white hoods and _don't fucking stop_!"

"_Jesus Christ_, do you even hear yourse - " The world slowed down and Francis saw the loose rock before Louis' foot fell on it. He could only watch in horror as his friend's ankle twisted out from under him and he landed chest first on the hard earth. "_**Oamph**_!"

"_Louis_!" He spun around, kicking up a cloud of dust, and was at his side in a second, pulling him up desperately. "Get up, we have to – " The roar of the infected drowned him out as the raging crowd rounded the hill the men had just crossed and every pair of eyes locked onto them. Francis raised his shotgun and fired into the mass; he could hear Louis struggling to stand and within seconds his gun leveled parallel to his. Together they fired, downing the first charging line just in time for a new wave to rush over the hill. "Francis, I'm out!" Louis cried. The biker pulled the trigger and heard the heart shattering sound of an empty chamber. "Me too…."

So this was it. They had survived this long, killed more infected than any other group had probably seen and he had found Louis again just to be torn away from him now. As the infected closed in he felt the man's hand slip into his; he instinctively made to pull away, stopped, and instead gripped the smooth skin tightly. "Francis, …I – I…"

"Me too, Dark Meat." He mumbled and watched their deaths run up to meet them.

"_DOWN NOW_!"

Francis didn't know how his body moved so fast, it was though his mind sent out the command before his ears even heard it. The first howling infected had just swiped to tear off his face when he lunged back, wrapping his arms around Louis' smaller frame, and letting his weight crash them both to the ground. Above him the air exploded with sharp light and the screams of rage melted into ones of pain and merciful death. He gasped frantically into the pinned man's ear and vaguely felt his breath returned on his neck. "_Run to us, boys! Run! Run_!"

It was Louis who squirmed to his knees first despite being caught in Francis' grip. "Francis! It's Bill – can you hear him? We have to go! _Please_, Francis! The biker couldn't hear the vet calling to them, couldn't hear the sound of the turret tearing through the infected's soft bodies. All he knew was Louis' voice. "Please, Francis…"

He leapt to his feet, dragging his friend up with him and running full force away from the frothing hoard. A pair of powerful lights sprang to life, blinding him, but he felt Louis take the lead and followed his frantic pace. "We got ya, boys! Get in!" An open door appeared in front of them, or maybe it was always there, and the two men hurled themselves inside. Bill's scarred hand flew above their prone forms, pulling the door close behind them a second after they tumbled inside. "Haul ass!" He cried and at his command the vehicle lunged forward into the welcoming darkness.

* * *

Louis couldn't move, trapped between the textured floor and the biker above him who, for once, seemed just as terrified as he was. It might have passed for a sensual moment had the fear of death not still lingered on his nerves. Plus the fact that the grizzled Bill was leering down at them with an amused grin. "Don't mind me," the vet chuckled. "You boys get comfy."

"F-F-Fuck you, you…you old geezer." Francis stammered with little conviction. Louis felt the man push himself away from his chest, allowing the cold air to rush between them. For just a moment their eyes met and the trembling man saw nothing but relief and…and something different that Louis didn't dare identify. Francis heaved himself into the seat and pulled Louis up by his armpit into the spot between him and Bill. "Thought you guys left us as zombie bait."

"I've lost several men in my days, but I ain't never left one behind." Bill growled and offered his hand to the biker who immediately grasped it and gave it two heavy pumps. The man then gripped Louis' dirt stained shoulder. "I sure as shit am glad to see you."

"Likewise," he whispered. The jeep bounced along carelessly and Louis couldn't help but admire the irony – they had ridden into freedom and now they were riding away from it. "Oh shit!" Francis suddenly spat, tearing his gaze through the cramped vehicle. "Where's the broad?"

"Zoey!" Louis gasped and a brick of guilt slammed into his stomach for not realizing her absence sooner. "Oh God, Zoey…"

"Is the one who saved your mangy asses." Bill interrupted and jerked his thumb behind them. Both men turned and gazed out through the rear window to see the slender young woman crouching safely in the extended open bed, her hands latched onto the mounted M2 machine gun that had lit up the night moments before. She turned and grinned, waving to them innocently. "Bill," Louis wet his lips as he spoke. "I'm sorry, but when we stop I'm going to have to kiss Zoey."

"Kiss her? I'll stick my tongue down her fucking throat and grab her ass – "

"I think she'd appreciate a thank you." Bill snarled, throwing Francis a murderous glare. "And that better be_ all_ she gets." Suddenly a familiar yankee voice drifted from the front seats as the driver spoke for the first time. "Ahhh, not ta break up your fine lil' reunion, but anyone got an idea of where we're goin'? Dis jeep ain't gonna last forever."

"Are you fucking serious!" Francis cried. "How the hell did he - ?"

"Where _are_ we going?" Louis intervened, placing his hand on Francis' arm. To his relief the biker grumbled like a sullen child but didn't pull away. Bill shrugged and lit a cigarette. "Hell if I know. The north is gone so I say we push south."

"Mardi Gras!" Zoey yelled from outside. Louis felt himself smile. "Wherever we go," he whispered, letting his gaze drift over all of them. "Let's not make the same mistake again."

"Dark Meat is right; whatever happens we don't leave our guns."

"_Dammit_, Francis, I meant each other!"

"Well_ fuck_, I didn't know you were going to go all Hallmark on us!"

"Hot damn I missed you two." The dark-skinned man tore his furious stare from the biker and looked over at Bill, who had a wide, uncharacteristic grin plastered on his face. "And I agree, if we got any shot left in this hell hole it's together. Zo?"

"You jerks aren't getting rid of me again!"

Louis chuckled lightly but the sound evaporated in his throat as he felt a gloved hand slip into his open palm. "Yeah, I could stick around." Francis agreed. The young man fought the blush rising to color his cheeks but couldn't stop his own hand from closing and pulling closer to his companion's side. "Alright, to de south!" The driver announced extravagantly and spun the wheel to topple over a lingering infected.

"Goin' to the south with a negro, a skirt, a baby killer and an eh-hole to top it all off," Francis grinned. "Sounds like good times."

* * *

End


End file.
